


from a crawl to a run

by Anonymous



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 10:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17599223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I want to be here,” Mina tells her, a little later, curled up in bed with still-damp hair, “when you go and when you come back.”Sana goes and Mina waits. Time-travelling, bathtubs and inaccurate palm-reading. time-traveller's-wife!au





	from a crawl to a run

 

(Mina is 17, Sana is 26)

“I don’t want us to be a sad story,” Mina says, bright-eyed and horribly naïve.

She’s slowed her feet, fingers tugging at Sana’s sleeve because she wants her to stop and listen. She’s also begging, but that’s less obvious; it’s more in the way she’s looking at Sana rather than her words.

Sana backtracks. Taps a finger to Mina’s nose. “We met when you were five and I was naked and hiding in the bushes. It won’t be a sad story. It’ll be great. It’s hilarious, now that I think of it.”

They’re strolling along the Han river. It’s some place Sana had found herself at often, dropped into a future or past and forced to seek shelter. If she’s lucky, it’ll be warm, and Mina will be there with a change of clothes. Looking bedraggled and worse for wear. If she’s less lucky, there’ll be trampled grey mush on the pavements and the wind is so cold it cuts to the bone, and Mina will either be too young to go wandering out past her bedtime, or she won’t even be born yet. If all her luck’s run out for the day, she’ll get arrested. But she’s always gone by the time the police manage to get a hold of anyone for her.

Nowadays, she’s lucky. Like today. Today, Mina is younger and eager to please. She carries with her a bundle of fresh, clean clothes (her own, from the looks of it), a pair of open-toed slippers and woolly socks. She finds Sana easily enough. It’s clear she’s been waiting when her nervous expression breaks into something slightly short of relief upon seeing Sana emerge from the thicket.

Mina is dressed in warm colours, a brown librarian-esque cable-knit cardigan over a turtleneck and dark jeans. Her hair’s short, still. Curled a little at the tips from the day’s end, and wind-tousled. She hasn’t yet made her mind whether to keep it short or let it grow long.

Sana rubs her cold palms together, breathes out white when she gratefully accepts the clothes and socks, saying, “Thank you.”

Mina nods, hastily. But she also blushes when she ushers Sana behind a tree to hurry her up. “Get changed, quickly. You’ll catch your death like that.”

Sana grins, but she’s shaking. She pulls on the sweatpants Mina had brought her. It goes down only to her ankles. “I’m more resilient than you think.”

Mina simply sighs, keeps lookout for her. “We’ll see.”

Mina sighs a lot in this time, Sana notices. She’s sitting for her college entrance exams soon; that might have something to do with it. Once Sana’s properly and decently dressed, she slips her hand into Mina’s. She’s already warmer.

Mina starts to smile, too, but then looks down at Sana’s feet apologetically. Sana’s feet are a work of art. The skin of her soles is torn and dirty, some of the nails discoloured and chipped – they’re ruined, basically, due to repeated hard landings. Back in her present time, and this is what is likely to happen when she gets back, Mina will fill a basin with warm water to soak her feet and spend a half-hour massaging the cold out of them.

“I’m sorry about the slippers. I wanted to bring you shoes so it’s warmer, but I thought that your feet will hurt too much for them.”

Sana had barely noticed. She looks down at her slippered feet. Sees that the socks have already been stained and grimaces. “ _I’m_ sorry. You’ll have to throw these out when I’m gone.” She wriggles her toes.

Mina frowns. She grips at Sana’s hand tighter. “How long more?”

It’s a question she hears often. Her future self hadn’t specified the duration of her ‘timely’ visits. The result of that is a fight-or-flight response to everything. And as always, Sana reassures Mina by pulling her in to fit snugly into her side. It does some good for Mina’s naturally nervous disposition and it feels nice to know that some things just don’t change. Mina is and always will be a worrywart.

Sana shrugs. And because she misses Mina, she leans in to push her cold nose into her cheek, dragging it past the baby hairs at her ear. Mina shivers. She smells nice, a little briny. She smells of sleep, and her bedsheets.

“People will think you’re drunk,” Mina whispers, her skin heating up underneath Sana’s touch. She’s visibly flustered in a way the Mina in her time rarely is. Hot-blooded young girls, Sana thinks with a grin. It’s a little salacious, but she’s not one to take advantage of Mina’s youth, and so draws away with a chuckle.

“Maybe I am drunk.” It won’t stop her from being cheesy, though. Mina’s unamused expression tells her she’s expecting it, too. “Drunk on you.”

Sana could, frankly, get drunk on Mina. Her eyes; her scent; her hair; her low, chiding voice when she’s trying not to be disappointed but actually is; her legs when she crosses them on a chair; her back in a thin shirt, how her shoulders, a little on the broader side, feel under Sana’s skittery fingers, the warm heat of it under her mouth.

As it is, the Mina in this time shoves her away only to settle deeper into her side again. Mina’s a little shorter than her, coming just up to her nose. It makes it easier for Mina to fit her head under Sana’s neck, which she now does. “You’re embarrassing.”

“You love it.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“You love it,” Sana insists. “You’ll miss it when I’m gone, I tell you.”

“I won’t.”

She’s rolling her eyes. Sana knows she is. They walk for a little longer, then Sana realises its way past midnight and it’s a school night. So she asks, “How are you getting home?”

Mina seems less worried. “Oh, I’ll just take a cab.”

“It’s late. Did you tell your mom you’re going out?”

“She knows. She thinks I went to meet a friend because I left some important notes at her house,” Mina waves a hand at her. “I’m not a child, you know.”

Sana lifts a brow. Mina pulls away slightly to trace the concerned arch of it with her fingers. “Sure you are. You’re adult enough to have to lie to your mom to go out.”

“What do you want me to do?” Mina asks, unhappily. “Sneak out of the house? If I do that, I might not have a house to come back to in the morning.”

Some things are less easy. Like navigating around parental supervision and curfews. But Mina’s got a knack for rule-bending and she can’t say she’s not thankful for that.

“I’m sorry,” she tells her. “I’ve turned you into a rebel.”

Mina scoffs. “Please. I’m hardly rebellious.”

“You know, I haven’t told you how glad I am that you’re here.”

“Are you changing the subject, right now?”

“Maybe I am. Let me walk you to the taxi stand?”

Mina looks up at her. “So soon?”

There’s a tugging at Sana’s gut that tells her it may be sooner than she thinks. So she says nothing, simply nods. Her eyes hold apologies and promises, and Mina, because she’s still young and unhurt, accepts them easily enough.

Their trudge back to the taxi stand in the semi-darkness is one filled with conversation – about Mina’s studies, how her parents are doing, what colleges she’s thinking of applying to. These are all questions Sana already knows the answers to, but wants to hear her speak anyway. Each moment feels brand new, with Mina. This is only proven true when Mina turns her head to look cautiously at Sana, as though she’s the brunt of a joke everyone knows but her.

“Don’t you already know these things? Why’re you still asking me?”

Sana shrugs. “Maybe I just miss hearing you speak.”

Mina pauses for a moment, understanding. She only now hears the weight, the exhaustion in Sana’s voice. She looks seriously at Sana. Her serious face draws out a fond chuckle out of Sana. It’s easier to say that she and Mina are still in love, years from now, and Mina has been nothing but kind and understanding. It’s less easy to say that there are days when they just don’t  _talk_. They just lie together in the dark, listening to each other breathe, and then Mina will roll over to her side and sleep. It’s less easy to say that sometimes Mina looks at her with something just shy of contempt. No, not contempt, exactly. But a sort of impatience. It’s worse when Mina’s flinches away from her touch.

It’s better after she returns from her ‘trips’. The worry thaws Mina into at least speaking with her, fretting over her. But everything else feels like a cold war, specifically designed to feed Sana’s guilt.

Right now, Mina, not knowing these things, asks, “Is everything okay?”

Sana looks tenderly at her. She’s put on some weight since Sana last saw her. Sana fixes her hair, her cardigan. They’ve arrived at the stand, where a lone taxi driver is dozing off, the window of his cab rolled down slightly.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” Sana says. Runs her hand backwards over Mina’s cheek. “You should get home before your mom starts worrying about you.”

“Oh, crap, yeah.” Mina fishes out her phone, flicks through her many notifications.

Sana laughs at the many exclamation marks and capital letters sent in one message alone. “Looks like she already has.”

“I’ll call her later. Let me wait with you for a while.”

Sana takes her hands away, shakes her head. “No, I think it’s best I go.” At Mina’s frown, Sana tacks on: “You know, before anyone sees me disappear.”

“Well, okay,” Mina concedes, uncertainly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, I’m always okay.”

“You always say that.”

Mina looks close to stamping her feet in frustration. So Sana breathes out a laugh and leans in quick to kiss her cheek. It’s sweet and chaste, innocent. Even though Mina’s almost a college student and is hence not as innocent as Sana thinks she is. But anything more than that makes her feel dirty.

“I’m okay,” Sana repeats in assurance. “I’ll see you soon.”

Mina appears dimly disappointed. But she waves her goodbye and gets into the cab.

Later, Sana jogs back to the riverside. The park’s still in its early developmental phase. They’ve yet to install these artistic cement blocks by the river to function as seats. The night air is crisp and cool, so much so that no crickets are chirping tonight. Sana grasps at the shirt Mina’s lent her, bringing the collar to her nose to inhale the smell of Mina’s laundry detergent. It’s the same one she uses in Sana’s current time.

The tugging at her gut grows stronger. Sana gets as far as possible without being seen, and then the tugging becomes a painful wrenching and then she’s gone.

(Mina is 25, Sana is 26)

Sana returns sometime past four in the morning. She stumbles naked into the kitchen, skinned knees hitting the bare kitchen tiles. It leaves her breathless, and she has to brace herself on all fours for a long while. She must have made some noise, because Mina comes hurrying into the kitchen wearing her sleep shirt and underwear, having been pulled urgently from sleep. Her eyes are strained but alert. She must have thought an intruder had broken into her house.

That is, until she sees Sana on the floor and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” Sana says, still short of breath. Gets up to one knee. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Mina looks at her, an endearing sort of exasperated:  _what am I going to do with you?_  Slowly, Sana grins up at her. She gathers Sana up in her arms, helps her get up, tuts at her bloodied knees and her filthy feet. She rubs her hands up and down Sana’s arms, stiffened with cold.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” she murmurs.

In the bathroom, Sana sits on the closed lid of the toilet as Mina lets the water run into the bathtub, feeling for the temperature now and then to make the necessary adjustments. She turns the knob once, twice, then dips her fingers in the water.

Mina’s hair is longer, pressed to one side of her face. She sports a faint red line across one cheek and some jaundice-like yellow splotches of highlighter ink that tells Sana she’d fallen asleep studying, most likely on her textbook.

“Where have you been?” Mina asks, and Sana’s so busy observing her that she misses the question at first. She startles at a soft touch to her hurt knee.

“Do you remember back when you were still in high school? Senior year, about to take your college entrance exams?”

Mina’s face scrunches up in thought. “Hmm.”

When that doesn’t seem to be ringing any bells, Sana tries, “When you brought me slippers at the Han river?”

Mina’s face lights up. “Oh!”

Sana feels herself smile. “Yeah. Oh.”

“God, I got into so much trouble that night,” Mina groans into her hand. “I was so stupid. I came home without the notes and my mom thought I went to see a lover. She couldn’t stop asking me if I had a boyfriend after that.”

“Well,” Sana says, laughing a little, “she wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“I guess so,” Mina says, and she’s beginning to smile, too. She taps at Sana’s kneecap pensively, above the angry red abrasions that came with landing hard on her knees. “Were you okay? After I left? Did anything happen?”

“No, I just – I’m here now.”

“Yeah, you are.” Mina smiles up at her and all ill-will and hurts, purposely or otherwise, the past week are forgiven, or forgotten. “I hadn’t even noticed that you’d gone. I was in the study.”

Feeling bold, Sana reaches down to lace her fingers with Mina’s. If she’s right, Mina will allow her this, at least. She feels tons better when Mina doesn’t pull away. “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

Mina doesn’t seem too pleased about something. Sana’s not sure what, but she’s still revelling in the long-awaited touch she’s hungered for.

“It matters,” Mina says, so softly Sana almost misses it.

Her smile’s gone, replaced by a wistful, morose look. She guides Sana up from the toilet seat to the bathtub. Helps Sana ease into the tub. The water feels like a warm blanket, and soon she’s made limp and boneless by the water. Her knees and feet sting, but not fiercely.

Worn thin, Sana hasn’t even noticed her eyes slipping shut until she feels Mina get to her feet next to the tub. She opens her eyes to Mina slipping off her shirt, pushing down her underwear. Sana flusters.

“What –”

“Hush,” Mina says, and climbs into the tub with her.

The tub’s small, perfect for one. Which means it’s barely able to accommodate two people, but that hardly matters. Water gently laps at the sides of the tub as Mina slips in nimbly behind her. Her hands come up to take Sana’s shoulders, coaxes her to lean back into Mina’s front.

It’s not new. Nudity’s a norm in this house (and sometimes, in Sana’s case, outside it) but this feels like a first. Especially when Sana had been starved of affection all week long. She feels Mina exhale behind her. Feels all too acutely Mina’s skin against hers, sleep-warmed and soft. Mina lets her head fall to the side against the mosaic tiles of their bathroom walls. It feels like a release. Tension leaks away from her shoulders, body uncurling into something pliant and loose, and less like a clenched fist.

“Are you blushing?” comes her voice from behind.

Sana denies it, “No.”

Mina chuckles, low and lovely. “You’re so cute, Satang. So full of hot air.” Then, “Oh, will you  _please_  relax?”

“I am. So relaxed. You could not believe how relaxed I am right now.”

“Right,” Mina drawls.

They sit like that for moments longer, until Sana’s fingers start to prune, and the water loses its heat. Sana’s head is pressed up against Mina’s neck such that if she turns her head, she can press her mouth to her throat, if she so desires to. Or press kisses up along Mina’s jaw. But she’s too tired for either of those things.

Instead, she makes do with playing with Mina’s fingers, running fingertips down the digits. Pretending to do palmistry.

“Your love line is choppy,” Sana tells her, tracing a finger along the said line. Indeed, it is choppy, with faint lines branching fruitlessly out and away from the main one. “It means your love life is faced with many obstacles.”

Mina spurts out a breathy laugh. It feathers over Sana’s nape. “Since when do you know how to read palms?”

“Shh. I know a lot of things.”

“Okay,” Mina says, shifting so she’s more upright. “What else?”

“Hmm,” Sana’s thumb presses into Mina’s open palm. “You’ve got a cross over your love line, here.”

“So what?”

“Well, it means your career, study and life are tied down by your love. Your love partner may have a tendency to die because of you.”

Mina is quiet for a stretch of time. Her fingers are beginning to close over her palm, but Sana smooths them out.

“Tell me something else,” Mina says.

“Okay, your love line is feathered. It means you’re very passionate.”

“Uhuh. And where did you learn this?”

“I befriended a wizened old woman in one of my ‘trips’. She taught me her ancient secrets.”

“What else did she teach you? Kung-Fu? The sacred art of dumpling folding?”

“I can feel you making fun of me.”

“That’s because I am, darling.”

Mina’s voice has laughter tucked behind every word. Sana turns her head so she can see how Mina’s lips are thinned in an attempt to hold back laughter. Sana doesn’t mind being laughed at. She picks apart the expression, studies it, memorises it, so this way, she’ll have a bit of Mina anywhere she goes. If Mina notices Sana’s starry-eyes, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she scoops water over Sana’s knee.

“You could at least pretend to believe me,” Sana says, whines almost.

“Well, you could at least pretend to learn some useful tricks.” Mina glances down at Sana’s expression, a tad surly, and laughs aloud. “Okay, fine. Tell me. What did she say about yours?”

Mina flips Sana’s hand over so that she’s holding Sana’s palm now. Her thumb drags along the bold lines of Sana’s palm.

“Your line’s split at the end,” she notes.

Sana smiles, nods, like she’s keeping a great secret. “She said it means willingness to sacrifice everything for love.”

Sana stares at her own palm. There are ridges, hardened and white, at the base of her fingers, and her hands are coarse next to Mina’s. Eventually, she feels Mina lean forward to mouth at her neck, press closemouthed kisses to where her neck meets her jaw. Sana closes her eyes, lets herself be taken. Cold is beginning to seep into the water, into her flesh, makes her hair stand at the back of her neck and on her arms.

“I want to be here,” Mina tells her, a little later, curled up in bed with still-damp hair, “when you go and when you come back.”

Sana plays absentmindedly with Mina’s fingers, where they lie intertwined with Sana’s on her chest. Fixes her eyes on the ceiling light above. “I’d like that.”

She stays still, even when Mina scoots down so their faces are aligned, nudges her nose into Sana’s cheek and begins to doze off. Breaths hot against lukewarm skin. Sleep comes easily – time-travelling is a tedious affair – and Sana is so comfy, so warm and so loved.

Everything is okay. They won’t become some tragic story.

(But we all know how this ends.)

 


End file.
